


Not Gay

by sherlockholmes_doctorwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockholmes_doctorwatson/pseuds/sherlockholmes_doctorwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not gay, not gay, not gay, yes, THANK you for the endless reminders, John!  Perhaps you ought to get it tattooed on your forehead so the world will be well advised to that fact.  Perhaps you should change your middle name—Doctor John ‘Not Gay’ Watson!  In fact, why not sign all your paperwork at the surgery that way?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Gay

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my very first Johnlock fic, so please be gentle. Constructive criticism/comments are always very very welcome. I plan on writing tons more of everything - fluff, smut, angst - so keep an eye out. Love and kisses!! xx

“John.” The doctor’s thick fingers slowed and then stilled on the chiclet keys of his laptop. He raised his eyes and made a noise of exasperation when he was met with the sight of his flatmate, a towel clinging to the man’s slender hips and water dripping from his damp dark curls. In each thin-fingered hand was an expensive button-down shirt, one of which he now swept in front of his pale chest. “John, which of these shirts is sexier?”

  
John Watson’s hands left the keyboard to rub his temples. “Sherlock—that’s not—you can’t just—how would I know?” he spluttered.

  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and extended his arms toward his friend, the shirts dangling side by side off their hangers. “It’s for a _case_ , John, there’s no need to get personally offended. I’m simply asking your objective opinion.”

  
“Sexy isn’t really an objective opinion.”

  
The detective scowled. “One or the other, John, it isn’t difficult. I need to appear attractive to a female suspect so I need to know—which shirt is sexier?” He shook the hangers forcefully as if to punctuate the point, little droplets of water flying off his skin as he did so.

  
John sighed. “Sherlock, I’m not _gay_ , so how would I know—”

  
Sherlock huffed in frustration and rolled his eyes again. “Must EVERY discussion of ours revolve around your oh-so-rigid heterosexuality? Or would you perhaps, just this once, answer a simple question without making a fuss?”

  
“I’m not gay—”

  
“You know I loathe repetition.”

  
John cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not gay—”

  
“Are you deaf as well as an idiot?”

  
John rose from his computer and planted his fists on the table. “Would you stop interrupting me?” he snapped.

  
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “If you’re not going to answer the question I’ll stop _inconveniencing_ you and figure it out myself.” He gathered the shirts under his arm and turned towards the hallway.

  
“Sherlock.” John’s voice was dangerously low, cutting and deep in his throat. Sherlock felt a tiny shiver in his shoulders and he came to a halt, a drop of water running cold down his leg.

  
“Yes, John?” he asked very quietly, not daring to turn around.

  
There was a long, thick moment of silence and just as Sherlock was about to repeat himself, the doctor’s voice rang across the room.  
“The purple one. Much sexier.”

  
Another shiver sprang down the detective’s spine. He pulled the towel tighter around his waist and hurried to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  
***

  
When Sherlock re-entered the flat late that evening, the lights were off and the only sound was the gentle hum of the refrigerator. He shut his eyes briefly and leaned against the doorframe, toeing his shoes off, and rubbed his neck where the suspect he’d been seducing had sucked a mark into it. _The things I do for cases_ , he thought disgustedly. She had been pretty enough, he supposed, all long legs and auburn hair and wide eyes, but as he’d iterated many a time to lusting fans, women were not really his area. He flicked the top buttons of the purple shirt open and padded into the sitting room, making a beeline for John’s laptop to make notes—he couldn’t be arsed to retrieve his own from his room.

  
“Ahem.”

  
Sherlock whirled around and peered into the darkness. A pair of blue eyes looked back at him and he pursed his lips. “Oh. Hello, John.”

  
His eyes began to adjust to the low light and he could see John uncross his legs and lean forward with his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his hand. “I see you found your suspect,” he murmured, his eyes flickering to the purple bruise on Sherlock’s neck. The detective grumbled something incoherent and John raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  
“I said,” Sherlock growled, “it was a waste of time.” He flipped the laptop open and keyed in the password—recently changed but simple enough to deduce.

  
John’s eyes raked over the angles of his flatmate’s face, cheekbones and lips and brow thrown into sharp relief in the glow of the machine before him. Slowly, he rose to his feet and crossed so he was opposite Sherlock at the table. “Nice shirt,” he smirked.

  
Sherlock lifted his gaze and his pale eyes seared into John’s, whose tongue poked out to wet his lips. “Hmph,” he replied. “Careful, now. Someone might misinterpret that.” His tone was chilly. John chuckled.

 

“Sherlock, I’m not gay—”

  
“I KNOW,” Sherlock roared suddenly, slamming the computer shut and tossing his hands up in the air. “Not gay, not gay, not gay, yes, THANK you for the endless reminders, John! Perhaps you ought to get it tattooed on your forehead so the world will be well advised to that fact. Perhaps you should change your middle name—Doctor John ‘Not Gay’ Watson! In fact, why not sign all your paperwork at the surgery that way?” His cheeks were flushed crimson and he was suddenly very thankful for the darkness. “Next time I ask a question that might threaten your poor sexuality, just smack me across the face, John! _That’ll teach me!_ ” Sherlock’s chest rose and fell rapidly and he spun on his heel and crossed to stare furiously out the window.

  
He heard John padding across the carpet to stand behind him. “You arsehole.” The words ghosted hot across the back of his neck and he felt a familiar shiver. “I’m not gay.”

“John, for heaven’s sakes—”

  
The words caught in his throat with a strangled noise as John stepped closer behind him and a strong hand slid to rest on his hip. “Not remotely gay, Sherlock…” The hand, with its stout fingers and steady grip, inched down his thigh at a glacial pace, and the detective realised he wasn’t breathing. A thumb hooked in the band of his trousers and tugged, and the body behind him pressed even closer until he could feel a stiff, hot pressure against his arse.

  
“John—?”

  
“I tried to tell you, Sherlock,” John breathed, and then there was another hand tracing his zipper, “I’m not gay.” All at once, John palmed his flatmate’s growing bulge and bit down hard on his neck, right where the suspect had been giving her attention earlier that evening.

  
“ _John—!_ ” Sherlock felt trapped in his trousers, his dick pushing at the zip, hot and hard and heavy, and he was beginning to grow dizzy as John sucked a path up his long neck, working his skin with teeth and tongue and lips. “John, what are you— _aaah!_ ” John ground his hips forward and sucked Sherlock’s earlobe between his teeth. He spun the taller man around and forced him against the window, clasping the detective’s hands above his head and bringing their lips a hair’s breadth apart.

  
“I was right about the purple shirt,” he growled with a smile. “Very sexy.” He pounced, tounging his way into Sherock’s mouth and rolling his hips forward over and over again. Sherlock’s knees were weak, and he was certain if he weren’t pinned against the window he would have collapsed. John’s free hand worked his shirt open and he pulled apart with a wicked grin, dipping to suck Sherlock’s left nipple into his mouth and roll his tongue around it in tantalizing circles.

“John, please—”

  
“Please, what?” John prompted, pulling the other nipple between his teeth and biting down.

  
“AH—please, John, I need—I need—”

  
The doctor released his hands and licked and bit at Sherlock’s collarbone, sending more and more heat straight to the detective’s groin. “Need what?” he urged.

  
“Need—to taste—you—” Sherlock panted. “Please!”

  
Before he could react, John had wound his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and forced him to his knees. “Suck it,” he ordered, his voice thick with lust.

  
Sherlock fumbled with the fly in front of him, finally working it open and pressing his face to John’s crotch and breathing deeply. The dark, musky scent made his head spin with desire and he moaned whorishly, mouthing at the red cotton pants that trapped John’s aching length and trying desperately to ignore his own persistent erection. “Now,” John commanded, and Sherlock drew his cock out and began suckling the tip, savouring the salty taste of precum. John’s breathing was ragged, his eyes fixed on the dark curly head at his groin. Sherlock drew the flat of his tongue up the underside of the shaft and then took it in his mouth, relaxing his throat and pulling John’s length deeper and deeper until the head bumped the back of his throat, and then he sucked hard and pulled back and John groaned loudly.

  
“You see, Sherlock?” he croaked as the pale man bobbed up and down, swallowing his cock greedily, “I’m not—remotely—gay…uuuuunnnngghhh.” He moaned as Sherlock swirled his tongue around the head and rolled his testicles in a sweaty palm. John could feel the heat building in his belly and moments later pushed Sherlock away, barking, “That’s enough!”

  
Sherlock whined in the back of his throat and looked up at his flatmate pleadingly, lips sticky and swollen, a thin line of drool rolling off his chin. “God, you’re beautiful,” John murmured, pushing Sherlock’s sweaty curls off his forehead and pulling him to his feet. “Bottoms off. Leave the shirt.”

  
The detective did as he was told, quickly peeling off his trousers and pants, the purple shirt hanging open around his chest, and stood staring hungrily at John, waiting for instructions.

  
“Up against the window. Let me see that pretty arse. That’s right,” John commended him as Sherlock placed his hands on the window and stuck his rear out towards the doctor. “Good boy.” John knelt before him and spread his cheeks, his eyes gleaming with want. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

  
“Y-yes, John,” Sherlock replied hoarsely.

  
“You naughty boy. How many men have you let eat out this perfect arse? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?” John sunk his fingers into Sherlock’s hips and buried his face in, licking and sucking at his hole. Sherlock keened high and needy, arching back and begging for more.

  
“Please—don’t stop—oh, god…” His cock hang heavy between his legs, weeping precome and purple with desire. John dipped past the ring of muscle, fucking Sherlock with his tongue and adding two fingers as well, swirling and licking and groaning all the while. “ _Fuck_ , John, Jesus—!”

  
Suddenly John pulled back and his partner whined with the loss. “I’m not gay, Sherlock,” he said again, spitting into his hand and slicking up his cock. “But I am going to fuck you until you scream. What do you think?”

  
“Oh, _God_ , John, please—do it—fuck me!”

  
John lined up with Sherlock’s entrance and without so much as a second’s pause, sank into his round white arse. They both moaned openly, and Sherlock could feel pleasure and pain burning inside and up his spine. After a moment in which he was allowed to adjust to the intrusion, John pulled back and pushed forward again, pressing into the man’s arse and biting his lip to keep from shouting. “So—fucking tight—God, Sherlock—” He picked up a relentless rhythm, driving in and out, skin slapping together, his dick aching with pleasure inside his friend. “You love this—don’t you—been dreaming of my—thick cock—filling you up—you little—slut—”

  
Sherlock shouted as John struck his prostrate. “GOD! John, yes John, yes—every night—I fuck my fingers—pretend it’s your—hhnng—your prick— _uuungghhh…_ ”

  
John angled his hips and Sherlock howled as the little tangle of nerves inside him was prodded again and again. John’s face and chest were shining with sweat and he chewed his lip as he thrust forward relentlessly, his nails digging into Sherlock’s hips, bruising the skin, but neither of them cared. Curses flew from the detective’s lips as John fucked into him, faster and harder until he was sure he couldn’t take anymore yet knew he never wanted it to stop.

  
“Harder, John—ungh—fuck me—fuck me fuck me fuck me…”

  
John screwed up his face and slammed harder and harder forward. “Not—gay—Sherlock—not—gay— _fucking hell!_ ”

  
Sherlock could feel his balls drawing up and he could no longer hold back against the aching heat building in his groin. He wrapped his hand around his dick. “John—gonna—oh, god—so—close—JOOOHHNNN!” he screamed, his fist pumping, shooting ribbons of come across the window.

  
John pumped into him four more times and then thrust forward with a strangled shout, spilling inside his flatmate as the man’s arse clenched around his prick. He collapsed over Sherlock’s back, sweat seeping into the purple shirt, and panted heavily.

  
After a few blissful moments, John pulled out and Sherlock straightened, massaging the blue bruises flowering on his hips. “John…”

  
John staggered across the room and collapsed in his chair, tucking himself into his trousers and zipping up. “What, Sherlock?”

  
“Are you sure you’re not—?”

  
John smirked, his eyes dancing. “That’s what I was trying to tell you this morning, Sherlock, when you kept interrupting me. I’m not gay. I’m bisexual.”


End file.
